


When Angels Sing

by Queen_Mots



Series: Words of a Lullaby [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam swears like a sailor, Amnesia, Bonding, Desert, Fluff, M/M, Michael is Mean, Sahara Desert, Slow Burn, Soulmates, University Adam, at first, midam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:28:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Mots/pseuds/Queen_Mots
Summary: Michael is irked by waking up in a vessel without his wings being operational.The hairless ape he woke up with was just adding insult to the injury.





	1. Desert

**Author's Note:**

> So I discovered that there weren't many (if any) Midam-centric slow burns on here, and I decided to correct that indignity. Comment if you enjoyed!

Michael opened his eyes to a sun biting into his corneas; it was a peculiar feeling for several reasons, the first he noted was that he didn’t remember closing them in the first place. The second carved a deep frown into his face, and this was the fact that he didn’t recall _having_ eyes until they opened. He flicked through his memories, but they told him what he already knew; he was in Heaven, but not in a vessel, and then…. Here he was. In a vessel.

The revelation gave him discomfort, but he decided to shift this annoyance to the back of his mind as he pushed his hands underneath him and sat up. A great expanse of desert was in front of him, the sun’s rays bouncing off the golden sand and hitting the eyes he previously had not had. Ripples were the only thing to disturb the sand stretching towards the horizon in front of him. The Sword looked behind himself, his eyes narrowing on what was decidedly not sand. 

It appeared to be human—and waking.

“Ah—fucking _hell_ ,” the human pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes, and Michael took this as his cue to leave. His wings fanned out to take off—only for them to remain perched outright, as though they had forgotten how to fall. Michael felt unnervingly like some kind of _fledgling_ instead of _Michael_ , the Sword of God, the Oldest of the Archangels, the Most Powerful Angel in Heaven. The angel scowled at the place where his wings would be if they were corporeal.

The human became aware of the sand shifting through his fingers soon enough, and after a moment, seemed to run off a list of every curse he knew of. Michael suspected he was meshing one—two—even three together, the grand finale being; “Where the actual _fuck_ am I?”

Michael decided to walk his way to the nearest angel stationed on Earth to bring him back upstairs; he was done with the glorified ape and his vulgarities. He began walking away.

“Hey—Hey wait up!” The human sat up straighter as he spotted the Archangel. “Do you know where we are?” Michael ignored him and continued walking away; he wasn’t the one to involve himself in the affairs of man. “Will you remove that stick from your _ass_ , Michael!”

The Archangel whipped around and was met by the human’s scrunched nose and eyebrows as his blue eyes looked down. “How do you know my name.” The not-quite question was boomed out in a way that knocked the human out of his stupor.

Michael was surprised by the answering snarl.

“I was reading up on douche bags and discovered ‘Michael’ was the name of the biggest one.”

Michael stalked up to the human, his feet sliding into the sand as he went. The human was young, twenty at most, a straight nose above a mouth that Michael deemed very quickly was what would get the boy killed. The human remained unknown to him, but apparently not vice versa.

Something had happened and this human was there throughout it all—maybe even caused it. He narrowed his eyes. “You’re coming with me.”

Michael grabbed his arm and began walking again, dragging the human behind him with little effort. “Wait wait wait. I’m not going anywhere with you!” A hand dug into Michael’s grip, but could not unlock the vise-like hold. “Let go of me!” Feet planted into the sand to stop the constant force of the Archangel, but just slid behind him.

“You will die of dehydration here. Or be bitten by one of the many lethal animals. Or become delirious from the heat.” Michael kept his eyes forward. “It would be in your best interest to come with me voluntarily; even if I couldn’t force you to, it is the option least likely to end in your death.”

All that could be heard for a second was the sand shifting. Then, grudgingly, the human said, “Fine.” He gave another tug on the Archangel’s grasp. “At least let me walk on my own!” Michael let his grip slacken abruptly, and tried not to snort as the human yelped as he fell into the sand. 

***  
Adam was done with the fucking desert. And with Mr. Douche-With-A-Side-of-Asshole.

The desert was self explanatory; it was too hot and made him uncomfortable with all the sweating he was doing, his throat seemed to be progressively transforming more and more into sandpaper, and he had sand in places where sand should never be.

Mr. Douche-With-A-Side-of-Asshole was also self explanatory; he threatened Adam, grabbed him bodily, and didn’t seem to be affected by the desert at all. Adam could get over the fact that his genetics seemed to hit him with the gorgeous branch (something Adam could relate to; he also wanted to beat Asshole with a branch), but it was really quite unfair that he wasn’t even sweating, let alone panting or slowing his steps—and Adam meant at all. Adam was a bit of a Band Geek in high school, and he learned fairly quickly that to escape the instructor’s wrath he should learn to be in time. Long story short, let’s just say he had a sort of sixth sense for this shit, and right now Asshole was as steady as Adam’s metronome at home.

The thought of Adam’s home in Wisconsin sent a quick and vicious pulse of want through him, wrapping its ugly claws around his thumping heart. Even the mildly annoying things of his home were now things that his heart ached about; his way out of tune piano, the neighbour that decided mowing their lawn at four in the morning was a good idea, the coffee maker that he should’ve thrown out nearly a year ago when he discovered he liked tea more than coffee. He wondered whether he would be irrevocably behind in his classes at his university, and the contemplation squeezed his heart just that much harder; he could kiss med school goodbye if he had been gone too long. 

Adam jogged a few steps forward to be in-stride with Crazy-Good-Genetics Guy, but he didn’t even look over at him. “Are you… are you ignoring me?” The idea seemed very unbelievable to Adam simply because it was one of the most childish things he could think of doing. The Asshole didn’t answer, making Adam scoff incredulously. “Dude… _Michael_.” Blue eyes finally met his and Adam let out a semi-frustrated sigh. “When do you think we’ll get to civilization? And where do you think we are?”

“We’ll get to a town in 48 hours. As for our location, most likely the Sahara Desert, Northern Africa.”

“Af—Africa?!” Adam halted, eyes growing wide as hands flew to his hair, tugging brutally as his breaths picked up the pace. “Africa. As in _the_ Africa?! As in _literally across the world from Wisconsin_ Africa?”

Fucker stopped for the first time to look back at Adam putting his hands on his knees and closing his eyes. He didn’t know where he was, but the thought of Africa never crossed his mind. Worst case scenario for him, up to thirty seconds ago, was the Sonoran desert in Arizona. “Fucking hell. Shit. I’m going to be home too late.” 

Crazy-Good-Genetics Guy’s lips turned down the slightest, the most emotion he’d shown in the past hour or so. “Do you not have airplanes to travel faster anymore?”

Adam paused his panic for a second to look up at Asshole funny, but not long afterwards Asshole’s words sunk in completely for their full value. “Yeah… yeah, that could work,” he muttered to himself. “If I—if I get the authorities to look for my missing person’s report in America… I could be back in America in four days’ time…” Adam bit his bottom lip and furrowed his eyebrows before releasing his features and allowing steel to come into his eyes. He straightened and took a breath. “Okay. What are you waiting for? Let’s get going.”


	2. Chapter 2

The human behind Michael was panting. More than usual.

The sun had gone down hours ago, and the night brought temperatures lower than freezing, so the human couldn’t have been panting from heat. Michael tried to remember the qualities his Father had given his prided species all those hundreds of thousands of years ago, but his mind drew up a blank. He wasn’t paying much attention when God bragged about the newest edition of monkeys he had made; he didn’t really have much of a reason as to why, other than he was a little busy dealing with Lucifer’s temper tantrum (which didn’t end so well, as history would tell).

“Okay,” the human stumbled to a stop, hands going on his hips as he continued breathing heavily. “I don’t know what _you_ are, but _I_ am human; I cannot go seven consecutive hours of walking.”

“I’m an Archangel.”

The human snorted as he sat down on the sand, arms wrapping around himself. “Which one? Satan?”

Ice blue eyes framed by storm-cloud grey bars flashed before Michael’s mind, and Michael looked at the human with scrunched eyebrows. “You know my name is Michael—why would you guess Lucifer?"

“It’s because— “the human looked at Michael for a second, before flopping all the way down into a lying position, arm thrown over his eyes. “Never mind. You don’t seem like the type to understand.” He peeked up from under his arms. “I’m going to sleep; you do whatever ‘Archangels’ do, just make sure to wake me up before you leave.”

Michael felt pressured to sit down as the human covered his eyes again. It had been such a very long time since he inhabited a vessel, and none of the reporting Angels had mentioned what to do with his legs when he got into a sitting position. In the end, he stuck them out straight in front of him.

The human’s breathing evened out and Michael thought back to the last time he visited Earth; it seemed like it was before the Beginning, but Michael guessed it was actually around 20,000 years ago. It should’ve been merely a blip in time for him, but ruling Heaven took more energy than he let on; sometimes more than he had.

The humans had just started using their surroundings to their advantage, if he remembered; carving stone into tools, fishhooks were being made as well as boats, clay being hardened in heat. That was the first time Michael began to see them apart from the other beasts his Father had made to roam the Earth.

The reports he had been getting from the few Angels stationed on Earth over the years had begun to change his opinion on the humans; they were still so much like animals that he had begun to wonder what God had planned for them; if he had anything planned at all. He kept his doubts to himself, knowing the havoc that would be wreaked in Heaven should the news that Michael, the Oldest Archangel in the flock, had begun to spiral into the pit that his little brother had before him.

Michael slid his hands under the sand, feeling each grain shifting against his skin in a unique feeling he decided he enjoyed. Being in a vessel was still awkward for him, but inch by inch, he was beginning to enjoy it.

The night became darker and colder as the hours passed. Michael spent the time sitting with his hands in the sand, but just as the night dipped in temperatures, he noticed something… odd happening to the human. He was shaking slightly, trembles starting in his torso but ultimately moving to his limbs.

Michael, for one of the few times in his entire existence, did not know what to do. Did humans randomly explode? Should he be worried that the only key to unlocking his missing memories seemed to be ready to spontaneously combust?

He hesitated for milliseconds before placing a hand on the human’s shoulder, letting his Grace run through his veins. His nose scrunched as his Grace felt nothing to heal, but his features soon slackened as he realised that his Grace could at least try to heal the human; when his wings weren’t working, he assumed that all of his angelic abilities weren’t operational.

The surprise shifted when he realised that the human had leaned into his hand that he had yet to remove; the shaking was going down too. The skin under his hand was cool to the touch, a contrast to his own vessel’s warmth, and the contrast clicked in his mind; the human was _cold_.

He shucked off his green-grey coat and flannel beneath that, leaving him just in a white t-shirt. Sitting up on his knees, he placed the jacket over the human’s shoulders, and the flannel over his intertwined legs. Michael guessed that his own vessel’s heat must have been sticking to the clothing, because the human stopped shaking after only a few seconds with Michael’s clothing draped over him.

Michael sat back down in his original position, burying his hands in the sand once more as his eyes wandered between the night sky and the features of the human’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think an apology is needed for the late late late post! I'm sorry! I'm not abandoning this, I'm waaaay too invested in these cuties to leave them alone for a while. 
> 
> The good news is school is finishing for me in like a week, and I'll be able to post more regularly :) So if you've liked this far kudos and comments are appreciated


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